Tears of Blood
by nitric-hamster
Summary: Hermione awakens one night pregnant, and has no idea how. Does Voldemort have anything to do with it? And why is Harry acting so strangely towards her?
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, obviously  
  
**Prologue  
**  
Everything was silent, almost as if the whole world had chugged one too many drinks the previous night. Hermione moaned in her sleep and rolled over, smacking her lips lightly. Something trickled out to corner of her mouth, foul smelling and thick as honey, and splashed on the floor. A chill settled over her, and her breath caught halfway up her windpipe. Hermione was throttled by her own cud for a few seconds, until she woke up spluttering. Stiffly she wriggled herself out of her sheets, which were strangling her alive, and tried to wipe off the sweat that was plastered over her. It felt like it was near a sizzling point.  
  
As soon as she managed to throw off her bed sheets, she lay there with the springs in the mattress stabbing her back, trying to think. However, it seemed easier not to. Instead she settled for humming some sort of lifeless tune in her mind. Hermione's whole head throbbed intensely, and it felt like her eyes were fit to burst. She moaned and vaguely wondered exactly how many mugs she'd had to drink in the bar. She cursed herself and hiccupped so violently that her stomach jarred against her ribs.  
  
'Why me? _Why me_?' she hissed to no one in particular. It wasn't fair. Ron drank at least five times as much as she and he never seemed to suffer afterwards. In fact, she'd always known him to go back first thing the next morning and get himself reeling drunk before he went off to work. He was up high in the sky before the sun was.  
  
Muttering what sounded like a number of cusses mixed with complaints, she tried to get up. Her head felt as if it was crushed in and she almost yelled aloud. Black splotches did awkward dances in front of her eyes and she slumped back down on the bed. She lay there like a log for almost an hour, uncomfortably squeezed between two unruly lumps in her mattress, and tried to fall asleep. But in that extremely annoying way, she couldn't simply knock herself out of her misery when she wanted to. It was all good and well to when she needed to stay awake, like at meetings and such, but when she actually wanted to sleep...she never could do it. She hated that so much. Why couldn't she get any damned sleep?  
  
Hermione stared around her room, and once or twice she was jolted to awareness when she thought she saw moving shadows. But that is the greatest thing about alcohol; you could be surrounded by little crimson men with forked tails and tongues and care less. Normally she wouldn't have had the nerve to fall asleep on that dark and foreboding night, and yet she was snoring before she had closed her eyes.  
  
It was ironic how that was the one night the whole week she chose to deaden her senses. Hermione couldn't have possibly timed it worse. As she slept with blissful vacancy, something prowled the streets. Shadows flitted in its way and children spontaneously woke up wailing bloody murder. A certain teenage boy, who had broken into the CD outlet, poked his head from the shutters and looked around but saw nothing. Then, without warning, a blast of freezing wind exploded in his face, searing his eyes. Blood slowly trickled from his nose. And, far down the road in a lonely, run down house, Hermione woke up and slapped her hands to her bulging stomach. Quivering, she turned to gape at the mirror on her bedside table, and stifled a shriek.  
  
She wept tears of blood.  
  
(A/N: What do you think? Should I continue or what? Please review and tell me!) 


	2. Chapter One

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, obviously  
  
(A/N: Thanks for the reviews! I've never gotten so many for a first chapter...yay! I love you guys!)  
  
**Chapter One**  
  
'I am not with child!' screamed Hermione. Her face screwed up so her jaw jutted forward, and she was a very repulsive shade of scarlet. Harry and Ron only grimaced at her, but the twins caught each other's eyes and smirked.  
  
'Then maybe,' George grinned, 'you snuck down to the pantry last night and ate up the food supplies for the next three years?' Fred smirked at her and patted the bulge under her shirt.  
  
Harry, who hadn't spoken since she first walked into the kitchen that morning, suddenly asked, 'Whose is it, Hermione?' Her head jerked up to stare at him. He glowered at her midriff and then at her, and she thought it was highly unfair of Harry to blame her for this; he knew perfectly well that near fully developed fetuses don't just randomly pop into girl's stomachs at night. He also knew as well as she did that she was with no one. She'd dated Ron for a period of time in sixth year, and a few muggle men here and there, but that was different. Even then she had no girlish curiosity for sex. Perhaps she would if she was married, but she definitely didn't now. She had better things to do with her time than roam men's beds. What did Harry think she was, a whore?  
  
'It's no one's, Harry,' replied Hermione frostily. 'No one's.' She glared around, daring anyone to challenge this. Fred and George continued to snigger at her, but Harry still looked dubious. Ron, however, looked nothing short of wrathful.  
  
'No really, Hermione,' he snapped. 'You have to take responsibility for your actions. Tell us who the father is. Just tell us, don't act all innocent with me.'  
  
'Since when have you known anything of responsibility?' hissed Hermione. She seethed at his words. How could she have gone out with such a damn hypocrite? She was sorely tempted to walk right up and slap that hideous face of his, but that wouldn't really solve anything. So instead, she turned on a heel and flounced out of the room.  
  
'Hermione, wait...' Harry called after her. It was too late though. He could already hear her up in Ginny's room, sobbing.  
  
'Ah, no mate, don't go after her,' sighed Ron as he watched Harry race up the rickety stairwell. He shrugged, making sure his two best friends were definitely out of hearing range. 'After the little slut,' he added angrily.  
  
'Hermione, please tell me,' muttered Harry. 'Please. I won't think any less of you.'  
  
'I told you, I don't bloody know!' Hermione wailed. She was tired of his constant questions. Even though he was trying to be soothing in asking them, she felt as if she were being interrogated. She shrugged off Harry's arm, which he tried to wrap her in a hug with, and wearily hung her head in her hands. She muttered him in the politest terms she could muster to bugger off.  
  
'No,' he said firmly. 'Not until you tell me what I want to know.'  
  
'Harry, why can't you just believe me?' she shrieked. She slammed a fist against the bed and waited for a reply, but none came. Her words just hung in the air, ringing in her ears.  
  
'I believe you,' he finally said. The icy silence around them was shattered, for which Hermione was thankful. It had been uncomfortable.  
  
'You do?' she sniffled. She looked up at Harry with glistening eyes, and saw his were glassy with tears too.  
  
'I suppose I have no choice...' he whispered. 'You've stood by me all the times everyone thought I was lying...' Harry choked back a sob. He'd seen worse than this, there was nothing to cry about. Nothing at all; this was not death or torture, so why was he crying? He shook his head to himself in complete denial, and stopped blubbering. It would only distress Hermione further if she saw his tears. He drew himself back up to full height, blinking away the blur under his lids, and asked, ' Don't you have any idea who...?' Hermione cocked her head at him.  
  
'I wish,' she snorted. 'I can only think of one wizard who could, or would, do this, but he's long gone.' She smiled, looking over at Harry. 'Speaking of which,' she added, 'how is it?'  
  
'My newest addition to the scar collection?' grinned Harry. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt to show her the long, thin line that ran across his chest. 'It's doing quite well, what do you think?' But instead of replying, Hermione did something that caught him completely off guard. She leaned forward and began fingering the mark. He shivered inadvertently and hoped she didn't notice the fine bumps prickling his skin. It was hard to believe this was the girl who looked like she could have murdered him a few minutes before. He shivered again, trying to keep the heat quickly building up in him down. He had to get a grip on himself before she did.  
  
'No'- muttered Harry, but Hermione's finger on his lips silenced him.  
  
'It's still incredibly sexy,' she whispered to him. And who knows what may have happened next had Ginny not come bursting in, looking highly disgruntled.  
  
'Hermione!' she cried, dropping down on the floor beside the two. 'Tell me Hermione, whose is it? Whose?' She tore her eyes from Hermione's stomach and looked from Harry to Hermione and back again. They hadn't realized how close they had been sitting, and shifted apart under Ginny's accusing glare.  
  
'Wh...oh,' she muttered. 'I see.' Her crush on Harry was, as she claimed, long past, but Hermione still saw her face drop when she put two and two together.  
  
'It's not his,' Hermione told her quickly. 'I don't know who...'  
  
'I see, I see,' said Ginny with a weak smile. 'Sure. Yeah. I'll leave you two...alone now. Er...bye.' Ginny practically leapt out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her. Hermione could tell Ginny didn't believe her either, and that annoyed her a little; she still felt sorry for the girl though. After all, she'd liked Harry for as long as Hermione had known her. She just hoped Ginny wouldn't go blurting it around the house that Harry and Hermione were having a baby; not only would Ron blow a gasket, but Hermione didn't think she could handle any more trauma for the time being. Already she felt fit to explode.  
  
'Oh well,' Harry shrugged, reading the look on Hermione's face. 'At least we know it isn't ours.'  
  
'Yeah, it's Voldemort's. Yay,' snapped Hermione sarcastically.  
  
'No it's not,' said Harry firmly. He sounded more convinced than he looked, though. Harry started listing reasons to persuade the both of them that the baby wasn't...well, that it was perfectly normal.  
  
'For one,' said Harry, 'Voldemort's gone and he's not coming back. And if he were to...well, you know, make a child and...he wouldn't pick a muggle to rape. Or whatever he did. Also, I kind of doubt that Voldemort had genitals anyway.' Hermione couldn't help but smile at this remark. Harry was so tactful; he knew just how to make a person feel better. For the hundredth time she thanked God she and Harry were friends.  
  
'Thank you, Harry,' she croaked. Oh damn, she thought as she began to sniffle. I'm crying again. She tried to hide her tears by turning and making up the bed, but jumped as Harry forcefully tugged her back toward him.  
  
'Hermione'- he began. He never got to finish. For, at that moment, Hermione suddenly gasped and crumpled into a heap on the floor.

(A/N: Ok, not my best work...i might edit this chapter later or something, so sorry if it kind of sucked)


End file.
